The Magus
by cannonmeatball
Summary: When an apostate is offered an opportunity he just couldn't resist.


Author's note: This is my first DA story and my second overall. Please be kind and leave reviews.

I am the most powerful Mage in Thedas; even if the ugliest. From birth, I've wandered the ceaseless halls of the fade. I've bargained with demons for years before uttering a single word. The words to every spell are engraved on the flesh of my tongue. The very tongue that got us into this mess in the first place. But let me start from the very beginning.

It was a beautiful morning. Due to my parents fears of the Templars, we lived in the bowels of a desert. The raging sun belted down on the few plants we grew, their leaves browning and wilting farther every second. I walked around the makeshift garden, attempting to water the plants, though to no avail. The water would burst aflame before even tantalising the plants' thirst. I looked to the sun and cursed under my breath.

Why does nothing come easy for me?

I sighed and dropped the tin watering can with a clatter. As it rolled loudly around the floor, I clasped my palms together and closed my eyes. I saw the parched vegetation in my minds eye and began chanting unintelligibly by instinct. I trained my palms at the sky and imagined a small congregation of clouds just above the garden. I imagined the smell and taste of the pouring rain. A small buzzing surfaced in my palms and a drop of water fell on the tip of my nose.

I opened my eyes to small, ominous clouds looming over the garden. I willed the pregnant clouds to bleed and they graced the garden in showers that smelled of metal. I sighed and lost concentration on the small feat, resting my steering palms on my thighs. A smile crept across my face. Even after years of the same trick, it never failed to amuse me.

"That's quite the oddity, you have there." I gasped and looked up to the source of the deep voice. A dwarf stood behind the low barbed fence that stretched around the garden

"It Is, isn't it?" I planted my fists at my hips in a show of arrogance.

"Where'd you learn how to do that? Could be useful to someone in my line of work."

I eyed the armour clad man and settled my eyes on his crossbow.

"What is your line of work?"

"It's not important what I do to put food on my table. What's important is that I asked you a question you still haven't answered."

"And what if I don't want to answer you?"

"That's your choice. I was just interested, that's all. What's your name, kid?"

"I'm hardly a child."

"How old are you then?"

"I'm nearly fifteen summers. Mother said not to tell strangers my name.

"I'm hardly a stranger, we've been having a great conversation, haven't we?" A sly smirk was painted on his round, wrinkled face. His full lips glistened in the rays of the sun. I wiped beads of sweat from my brow and rubbed my palm against my shirt.

"I don't even know your name."

"The name's Varric."

"Varric?" I pondered on the strange-sounding name. "And what do you do for a living, Varric?"

"Why's it so important to you to find out what I do?"

"Simple interest. It was you that said that we're hardly strangers." I grinned.

"That I did. What do you say we make a deal?"

"I'm all ears."

"I'll tell you what I do for a living if you tell me your name and where you learnt that trick."

"Hardly a fair trade. You learn two things from me, while I only learn one thing from you," I peered into his blue eyes.

"Well what else would you be interested in?"

My eyes darted from his auburn ponytail to his worn, leather boots. Tell-tale signs of a well traveled man. I looked back at our small, tin house and thought briefly about my parents before taking a step closer to Varric.

"I want an adventure," I whispered loud enough to catch his ear. He squinted his eyes at me and sized me up, clenching his jaw and crossing his arms.

"Where we're going you're considered an apostate. How can I be sure you'll deliver on your end of the bargain?" His voice was dry and humourless.

My eyes glowed blue and my hair burst into flames. Knowing that life would be filled with more danger thrilled me to my core. "A Mage's honour." I held my hand out for him to seal the deal over the fence. After a moment's hesitation, he clasped my hand and said, "I'm a mercenary."

"Hmm," I smiled, "how unusual. We don't get that many mercenaries around here. Come to think of it, we don't get much of anything around here."

"I answered your questions, now answer mine," he grumbled impatiently, seemingly regretting promising me an adventure.

"My grandfather used to tell us stories of dragons when he would come by. He'd tell us of their valour and power and how they ruled the skies. How they tore the flesh from screeching victims, not a thought of mercy running through their heads.

"It made me think about life. About how the animals don't seems to have a moral compass, and yet live with themselves just fine. It made me think of just how wrong our rights were and right our rings were. Soon enough. My loose morals found me in the Fade, learning spells from sloth demons in exchange fro animal corpses. That's where I learned to make it rain."

He grunted his disapproval.

"Who are you to judge my actions? You're a mercenary for crying out loud!" I huffed and crossed my arms

"I ain't judging you."

"You'd better not be, if we're ever going to get along on our adventure."

"Almost forgot about that."

"You're not weaselling out of this _that_ easily."

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead," I lied. "I was raised by my uncle. And Ben he could care less."

"Tell him where your off to."

"He's not in at the moment. He went to restock on necessities. Speaking of which, where _ARE_ we going?"

He turned around without so much as an invitation to join him. I burned whole through the rusted fence and ran after him, the scalding sands steering my bare feet. I turned the path before me into cool glass and followed Varric out of the desert.

"We're headed to Kirkwall, City of slaves."


End file.
